Fascination Of Mine
by darkmorsmordreheart
Summary: DM&PP. “Am I beautiful?”


Fascination of Mine

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**By darkmosmordreheart**

**Summary:** DM/PP. "Am I beautiful?"

**Warnings:** Odd . . . I have no warnings . . . This is probably the tamest thing I've ever written . . . wow.

**Disclaimer: **I do not and I never will own the Harry Potter series . . . Can you pass me that tissue box?

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She's always questioning me. 

It's almost like she wants me to find a reason to get the hell away from her. Believe me, there are many, many reasons, but I have known and learned any and all of them since we were three. And yet, she still questions me. _Why are you with me? Why are you always saying you love me? Why don't you find a new girlfriend?_

"You satisfy every need I've ever had," I answer.

"I love you because you're the first to love me with no conditions," I answer.

"If I was with anyone else but you, luv, I would be incomplete," I answer.

I am not completely sure what her reactions mean when I answer her questions. She might smile just as often as frown---actually probably half as much as frown---and sometimes she just assaults me with a new arsenal of questions. She's very random, she is. But I love her. And she doesn't know why.

This must be the question she asks me the most, almost every day; why do you love me?

Sometimes I just want to throw it all into the wind and scream out, "I don't know why I even want to be near you!" But I refrain because not only is that a lie, but she takes what I say very seriously. You see, she has low, low self-esteem and I do not want nor need her weeping all over me. I hate when she does that. She's so needy, it scares me. Sometimes I even wonder how she got into our house with that attitude. Our house prides ourselves on our cleverness and cunning as well as our vanity. You cannot be vain if you do not feel that you are beautiful.

She makes me sad, my love does. I want to hold her, to tell her that she's everything she needs to be, but I know she will only see it as coddling and she'll pull away from me---or depending on how she feels that day---she'll push me away and she'll probably squeal out something about me patronizing her and she'll run away, tears streaming out her eyes and down her cheeks. I don't want any of that, so I try not to touch her when she's questioning me.

She's always questioning me.

And now, she wants a straight, honest answer.

Just out of the blue, she walks up to me, like she always does, and pokes me in the chest, which she also always does. I look down at her shiny brown hair---I love it so much; how it wisps instead of curls under her ears and how it's a deep, deep brown like fine dark chocolate---but I don't comment because my chest hurts too much and I don't want her poking me again. She looks up at me, her neck arching almost all the way back to look straight into my eyes---I love how short she is, she only comes up to my chest---and frowns. Her eyes even look angry---her eyes are the exact same color as her hair, which one would think it would make her look plain, but it does the opposite; her eyes are so deep---I don't know why.

"Am I beautiful?"

I freeze. Whatever I was to say just stops at the back of my throat and just refuses to be moved. I stare down at her and I suppose I'm gaping because she lifts a small hand to my chin and pushes my jaw up.

"Answer honestly. Please."

Her eyes are big and serious, the most serious I've ever seen them, and so I answer truthfully.

"No. You are not beautiful."

Her eyes are still serious, extremely so as they begin to fill.

"You don't think I'm beautiful?"

I shake my head slowly and wrap my arms around her to pull her into my chest. I stroke her hair as she shivers against me, crying on the shirt of a man who was the source of her tears.

"Why did you ask me this question?"

She looks up at me, her eyes shining and pathetically sputters, "I-I-I h-heard Millicent and some other girls t-talking about . . . about h-how they di-didn't understand w-w-why y-y-you wanted m-me as a-a-a girlfr-fr-friend. 'O-Ole Pug-face,' th-they c-called me!"

"Pug-face?" At the word, I couldn't control myself. I burst into laughter. My love suddenly rears back and gives me a well-aimed, well deserved smack across the face. Her tears fall wildly now, reddening both her eyes and her nose, but I must admit, she looks so cute like that.

I rub my smarting cheek with one hand and grab her resisting arm with the other and pull her over to the comfortable chairs in front of our common room's fireplace. She gasps when I bypass the chairs to sit directly onto the floor, pulling her into my lap in the process.

"Let me tell you why I am with you, luv," I told her quietly, stroking the tears from her soft, milky white cheeks. "I am not with you because you are this useless word _beautiful_. I am with you because . . . you are a fascination of mine."

Her nose scrunches up adorably like it always does when she's confused. "Fascination?"

"Yes," I agree, my hands now brushing through her silky hair. "You are like spring rain to me."

"What are you talking about?" she asks, obviously not getting the poetry of this moment. My arms tightened around her so that she wouldn't even think of leaving until I finished explaining to her.

"Not everyone likes spring rain, luv. It brings with it mud and gloominess sometimes . . ."

"So you are calling me gloomy?" she asks, confused. I shake my head slowly and lean in to give her nose a kiss.

"No, luv. I'm trying to show you that everyone sees beauty in different things."

"By telling me spring is muddy and gloomy," she concludes.

"No, by trying to tell you how I love spring rain!" I snap, exasperated at her. "Some people see it as a bad thing, but I see the beauty in it, like how I see the beauty in you!"

"Oooohhhh, sorry," she giggles, which calms me and causes a smile to tug on the corners of my mouth. "Continue."

I narrow my eyes at her, but finish nonetheless. "Some people may not see it, but I see what makes you so appealing."

"What?" she asks, her voice suddenly hushed as she snuggles further into my lap and leans into me.

"Your face, for one."

"My _pug_-face," she snarls out, looking towards the fire, a foul scowl on her face. I use the tip of my finger to turn her chin back into my direction.

"You do not have a pug-face," I assure her.

"I do!" she rasps out, pointing a slender finger to the face in question. "My nose makes it look like that! I have a piggy snout!"

I look at her nose. It's an adorable nose. Small and cute, and it turns up just at the end.

"Well, if you have a pig snout, why do they call you a pug?"

"Oh, you!" she groans, trying to pull away from me, but my tight grip prevents her. "Let me go!"

"Not until I finish!" I snap a little too loudly, gaining the attention of a few fourth years. "I love your nose. I love your mouth!"

"It's too wide."

"You have full lips and when you smile, it illuminates your entire face," I counter. "I love your eyes."

"They're plain and brown, just like any average person's."

"You're eyes are so deep and so dark, it's like getting lost in a warm pool of chocolate."

"I have freckles."

"Only a few. It could be worse. You could be a Weasley."

"I have horribly thick eyebrows."

"They have beautiful natural arches."

"I am not beautiful."

"You are intriguing."

"I'm plain."

"You are unique."

"Odd."

"Fascinating."

"I'm ugly."

I grit my teeth and grab her jaw almost roughly enough to bruise. "Never say those words to me again. You are not ugly. Nothing of mine is ugly. _I do not have ugly things_."

Tears fill and overflow once again.

"You are not beautiful, this is true. No one is beautiful, nothing is beautiful until you put meaning behind it. You mean everything to me, so you are beautiful to me. You are ignorant of what you have, so of course you are not beautiful to yourself. Think it and you'll be it. Do you understand?"

She nods and wraps her arms around my neck. "You really think I'm beautiful, Draco?"

I nod after placing my chin on the top of her head. "You are. Who defines beauty?"

"I don't know."

"Beauty is defined by whoever decides. Why is a rose beautiful? Because someone said it was so."

"So I'm beautiful because you say so?"

"You're beautiful because I know so" I say, placing her small hand on the space over my heart. "I know it right here."

"I'm beautiful."

"Yes."

"You're really beautiful."

"You know, Potter called me Dart-face the other day . . ."

"Well, your nose is rather pointy . . ."

"Shut up, Pans," I growl before those beautiful, beautiful lips shut _me_ up.

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**Author's Note:** Review! Review! Review! Please and thank you. **_-DMH_**


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